


Droit du Seigneur

by Quefish



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Transgender, Bentley is a Horse, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Gabriel is Not Nice (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Mentioned Crowley/Shadwell, Other, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 11:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30004053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quefish/pseuds/Quefish
Summary: In medieval England, teenaged Aziraphale discovers she is a transgender woman. She comes out to her family, who in turn do everything they can to keep her safe and happy.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 38
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Aziraphale begins this story using he/him pronouns, and being referred to as 'son', however this is the only chapter in which it happens. 
> 
> A quick note about suspension of disbelief: 
> 
> This fic is about a transgender character set in medieval England. This is not going to be historically accurate in terms of attitudes towards sexuality or gender identity. This story is also not meant to represent everyone’s personal experience with being transgender, genderfluid, gay, bisexual, etc. This is very representative of my own experiences with gender identity, so please bear that in mind before bemoaning inaccurate representation; your experience is likely not the same as mine, and that is ok.
> 
> That said, please enjoy this story.
> 
> Good Omens Bingo prompt for Droit du Seigneur. 
> 
> Droit du Seigneur is the term used for "First Night" rights. The Lord/nobility of an area could appear at a wedding and lay claim to the bride for her wedding night. This practice has been widely debunked as myth by experts, so you can put away your pitchforks, no need to hunt me down.
> 
> Story is complete and will update on Fridays and Mondays.

Aziraphale paced in the orchard, worrying his hands. He had been waiting, almost hoping that his feelings would change as he got older, but once he hit puberty, he had to admit to himself it was just who he was. He had to say something to his parents, to his brother, and he was afraid. He picked up the bushel he’d been filling with apples, lifting it onto the cart before bringing it inside. 

His mother was just taking the pot off the fire as he walked in. She smiled at him as he helped prepare the table for when the others got home. 

It was later in the evening when Aziraphale finally spoke up. “I need to … Mother, Father, I … “ He could feel his cheeks turn pink and he looked down, maybe he wasn’t ready. 

“Aziraphale, speak up.” William sat down next to his wife, his shoulders curved with the weight of his thoughts. His hands were clean, but still smelled of soil from his work that day. He looked at his youngest son, almost certain he knew what was giving him such trouble. The man’s brown eyes were a mixture of worry and sadness. 

Aziraphale’s brother, Sander, sat on the other side of the room with a sharp knife, only barely paying attention. He handled the knife in his hands with confidence, if not experience, as he whittled a bit on a thick branch he’d brought in from the orchard. Sander was also broad, despite his youth, and proudly helped his father with his work. 

The woman, Estrid, didn’t need to ask what her son was having difficulty saying. Sander took after his father in every way; straight dark hair and brown eyes, broad despite his youth, strong, protective in a way that not everyone agreed with, but few would dispute. The younger boy, on the other hand, had his mother’s pale blond curls and blue eyes, and was soft in a way that he should have lost after his toddling years. When time permitted, he could be found shadowing his mother as she worked, wanting to learn to keep house as she did. He had no interest in joining his father and brother in their work, but did anyway, but only as little as he could get away with. When William would go to the village center or the Lord’s manor, Sander enjoyed going with him, but Aziraphale more often than not took the opportunity to stay with his mother. 

Estrid nodded, encouragingly. “I know, son, but I … _we_ need to hear it from you.”

William nodded, and the room paused waiting for Aziraphale. The silence hung heavy enough to make Sander look up and he saw his father looking at him meaningfully. He held his father’s gaze until it switched to his brother, and then looked at him as well. 

Sander suddenly realized that something important was going on, and it was about to change everything. Sander’s eyes widened and then narrowed as he looked at his brother. He was a bother, and a pushover, and so far as he was concerned, lazy for not wanting to work alongside him and his father. 

Aziraphale looked at his hands, worrying them together again. He began speaking, softly, barely heard over the crackle of the fire. “I don’t … I don’t think I’m like Sander, or Father. I think I’m more like Mother … and I don’t know what to do. I see the smithy’s son and think of him like I hear Sander speak of the daughter. I notice and envy how you and the other women dress. Sander mocks me for being soft, but … I like it, I like how it makes me look more like Mother.” He looked up, tearfully. “What’s wrong with me?”

No one had an answer for him. They didn’t understand it, but finally his mother spoke up.

“I don’t think it’s wrong, God doesn’t make mistakes. But I’d be lying if I said I’d ever … if I’d ever heard this before. And I don’t know how to help you, or what you’d even need.” Estrid looked to William, and Aziraphale’s eyes followed to look at his father. 

“ _Is_ there even a place for someone like me?” 

“We’ll make a place for you, Aziraphale. We’ll figure it out.” William assured him.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Not long after, Aziraphale had gone to bed early, exhausted from his confession. Aziraphale’s parents and brother stayed awake, trying to think of options, what to do, what was feasible. What would be best not only for their family, but for Aziraphale especially.

Sander’s idea was to kick Aziraphale out, send him away. His parents immediately shot him a disapproving look, his father going so far as smacking his arm. “None of that, he’s your brother and my son.”

Sander rubbed his arm with a scowl. “Well, if not him alone, we can’t stay here, we’ll have to leave, he’s an embarrassment.”

“If you’re not going to be helpful, go to bed, Sander. We’ll talk more tomorrow when Aziraphale is awake.” Estris dismissed him and he left to go to bed still scowling.

William waited until Sander was out of earshot. “He’s not being nice about it, and he’s wrong about the embarrassment nonsense, but the boy has an idea. If Aziraphale wants- If Aziraphale wants to be a girl, or thinks he is, or …is? Well, I don’t understand it, but it is what it is, right? So what if we _did_ move? Somewhere nowhere near here where no one knows us. We’d move as a family, with our son … and our daughter?”

Estrid’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. It was an idea that made no sense, but it was the only thing that made sense. How else would her son, or daughter, her _child_ … ever be able to be who he was meant to be if they didn’t start fresh somewhere? “Well, I suppose we should talk to Aziraphale, find out what he thinks, how strongly he feels about it.”

William nodded and leaned to kiss his wife, who suddenly blurted out a worry she’d been harboring. “Did we do something wrong? In raising him?”

“We brought him up the same as Sander, it’s just … it’s just how he is.” William shrugged, he’d been thinking the same, for years if he was honest, and never came up with anything, so he had to conclude it was because there was nothing to be found. No answer to why, it just was, and God left it to them how to respond. 

They went to bed, each lost in their own thoughts.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

From the outside, it looked like a normal day, everyone going about their work as usual. When everyone arrived back home and sat down for supper, the air became thick with expectation and question.

William and Estrid laid out their suggestion as Sander looked on, horrified that his sarcastic suggestion was being taken seriously, that his parents were actually considering abandoning their home like this. Aziraphale, on the other hand, looked surprised and cautiously hopeful. 

“We could do that? No one would know? But, what about … “ He looked around his home, and looked out to the orchard. “ … everything?”

“We’d visit Lord Modig, offering our gratitude for all of these years under his protection and care, but telling him that we need to leave. We’d travel as far as we could, and find a new Lord to offer fealty to, and tell him what we do for work. We will find new land, new work. Everyone needs farmers.” William seemed confident in his words, and that gave Aziraphale confidence as well. “Is this what you want, or need?”

Aziraphale’s lip trembled, overwhelmed. “Yes, Father. Please?”

William nodded and Sander exclaimed, “Wait, you’re serious? We are actually doing this insanity?!”

“Sander. Sit down.” William raised his voice firmly, allowing for no argument. Sander sat, glaring at Aziraphale who was still looking at their father. 

“Sander, we are looking out for our family, and everyone in it. You have to … from now on, as soon as we leave here, your bro- … your _sister_ will need her big brother more than ever. You understand that, don’t you?” Estrid pleaded with Sander.

Aziraphale’s eyes had closed, practically exuding a calm that had been missing for quite a while. Sander sighed loudly and looked back at his parents. Aziraphale may be a thorn in Sander’s side quite often, and he may have given a solid sock in the arm once or twice, but he’d never wish Aziraphale actual harm. And he hated to admit that if their positions were reversed, Aziraphale wouldn’t hesitate to do what Sander needed.

“Alright. I understand.”

William and Estrid sighed and smiled with relief. William stood and walked over to his daughter, patting her head and smiling as she looked up at him. He suddenly looked worried. “Do you, are we going to need a new name?” 

“I quite like Aziraphale, if that is acceptable, Father.” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, questioning.

“Fine with me.” He patted Aziraphale’s cheek and looked at Sander and Estrid. “Well, looks like we all have some preparing to do, and we should figure out what all that is.”

Not one to waste time, Estrid went to her sewing basket and asked Aziraphale to join her in planning new clothing. Her daughter hugged her tightly, whispering her thanks over and over as they talked about what they would make first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Lord Anthony Crowley, Lord Crowley meets Aziraphale, and Lord Crowley meets Gabriel.

**Six Years Later**

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Lord Anthony Crowley made his way to the entry of the keep, eager to be on his way home. He’d only been a guest for a mere three days and it felt like two too many. He was met at the door by the Lord of the manor, who was up surprisingly early. Crowley had been hoping to avoid him.

Lord Lucian Fenn was probably over twice Crowley’s age, which of course gave them little to talk about that wasn’t official or essential trade. Crowley didn’t judge the man’s age, but it didn’t help them have any common ground to share an entertaining meal over. There was also the matter of what Lord Fenn considered entertainment, which Crowley found abhorrent most of the time. Crowley was of the opinion that Lord Fenn was a boorish bore at his best, and an obnoxious, cruel embarrassment the rest of the time. 

“Lord Crowley, I hardly recognized you!” The Lord’s voice boomed with laughter in the quiet of the morning. He circled behind him, taking in what he was wearing. “Where on earth did you get those clothes?”

“I travel as low profile as possible, I prefer not to be a target for highwaymen, Lord Fenn.” Lord Crowley was dressed more as an artisan. Rough worn clothing that was decent enough, but not likely to be worn by someone carrying any money. “I find it also helps me blend in to see what is actually going on in my lands, without all the bowing and pretense.” 

Lord Fenn shrugged and shook his head, amused. “It is interesting what matters to you, Lord Crowley, but to each his own. Perhaps it is your youth that makes you so eccentric, but you are a good man all the same. Good journey and safe travels.” 

“My thanks, Lord Fenn, for your hospitality.” Crowley gave a respectful bow of his head, his personal feelings didn’t override propriety and observance of Fenn’s title. It was returned by Lord Fenn, and Crowley took his leave, turning back to the entryway where a manservant was ready with the door. He slipped on his tinted glasses as he left.

At the stables, his horse was prepared and he put the package with his real clothing into a saddlebag. He gave a wave of thanks for the boy who had been tending to Bentley as he mounted and got underway.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Lord Crowley had to stop twice to spend the night at inns on the way home. It was near supper on the third day when he finally crossed into his own lands. Despite knowing that there was no real difference, the air smelled sweeter here than even three steps behind him. He slowed as he made his way through the outermost part of the village, stopping at a rain barrel by the side of the road near a small house with a modest orchard and farm. He walked over and let Bentley drink as he splashed a bit on his face and back of his neck. He pulled out a carrot and took a bite before offering it to Bentley. Over the crunch, he heard someone singing quietly.

Crowley looked around and saw no one. He left Bentley at the barrel, confident she wouldn’t go anywhere. He walked toward the orchard, where the singing seemed to be coming from. He found a woman standing on a small stool, picking apples. She was careful as she judged each fruit, looking at them this way and that before deciding if she would pluck them from the branch. Crowley didn’t recognise the song, and was sure he’d never seen the woman before, he would have remembered her. 

She was lovely, with pale blonde hair that curled and fell just past her shoulders, where it was pinned back. A few wisps had escaped and were floating on the sides of her face, Her cheeks plumped as she smiled mischievously, looking towards the house and orchard before pulling one of the apples back out of her basket and biting into it. She was soft, and young, but possibly only a few years younger than Crowley. 

“Aziraphale! What on earth …?!” The woman jumped guiltily, the apple falling to the ground, as a woman who was obviously her mother came around the house and found her. “Must you eat so many? What will your father have left for the market or to offer Lord Crowley’s kitchens?”

The woman, Aziraphale, hung her head. Her voice was soft, and only barely carried to reach Crowley’s ears. “I’m sorry, Mother, they are just so sweet and juicy this time of year. But look!” She leaned over and grasped the basket almost full of fruit, lifting it easily. “One apple out of so many, can’t be so bad?”

Her mother looked fondly exasperated. “Oh, alright. Well, don’t waste the one you dropped. There’s a horse waiting by the road, I assume her rider has gone to answer nature somewhere. Go feed it and then get that bushel inside.”

Aziraphale nodded as she bent to pick up the fruit she’d dropped and, plucking out another from her harvest, went to the road. Crowley followed her, and reached her just as she was taking handfuls of water to rinse the dirt off the fruit she’d bitten. 

“Oh, aren’t you lovely? Would you like an apple?” Aziraphale held it out and waited for the horse to decide whether to accept. She shook her hand slightly, playfully. “I promise it’s good, you’ll like it.”

“She doesn’t tend to like strangers.” Crowley finally came close enough to speak, and watched as Aziraphale gripped the fruit in her hand tightly to not drop it, and twisted her apron in a firm fist close to the pocket that held the other apple. She turned to him, and Crowley was surprised to see what appeared to be genuine fear in her eyes.

She looked down, quickly, as she spoke. “Begging your pardon, sir. I meant no disrespect.”

“And I took none, I didn’t want you to worry why she wasn’t accepting.” Crowley patted Bentley’s neck and took her snout in his hand, gently petting her face. “S’alright, I’m sure this lovely girl won’t hurt you.” He beckoned Aziraphale forward with a smile. “Try again.”

Aziraphale looked up slowly, nervously, but stepped closer. She held out her hand to the horse, and Crowley noticed it was trembling.

“Don’t worry, _this_ lovely girl won’t hurt _you_ either.” Crowley smiled, hoping he looked reassuring. He turned back to Bentley and gestured his head to the apple. “Go on, you know you want it.”

Bentley took the apple, crunching happily as Aziraphale wiped her hand on her apron. “I … I brought one for her rider as well, sir. I- if you’d like it.”

“I would, thank you.” Crowley had of course had the apples from his own lands, but had only ever seen who he assumed was the girl’s father and brother when they first arrived maybe five years ago, and more recently maybe a glimpse when they delivered to his kitchens. He was also somewhat surprised to be called ‘sir’, she obviously didn’t recognize him. He internally shrugged, apparently clothes truly did make the man if his own subjects didn’t know him. He bit into the apple with a smile. “Juicy and sweet, perfect.” 

Aziraphale blushed and her head dipped shyly. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, thank you. A generous snack from a lovely woman made my day better.” Crowley’s smile widened a bit at seeing her cheeks go even pinker than before. He looked toward the horizon, noting the sun hanging quite low in the sky. “Well, I’d best be off. And you’d best get that bushel where it belongs. You are an impressive woman to be lifting it on your own.”

Aziraphale’s entire body stilled, and she stammered in her soft voice. “Yes, we- well, one d- does, when one works an- and it needs doing.”

“Of course. I meant nothing by it. I see it bothered you, but I didn’t intend it to be anything but a compliment.” Crowley’s voice gentled. “I hope my apology is accepted.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Yes, it is, thank you. Well, as you said, work to be done, and I’m sure you’ve a home that misses you.”

Crowley chuckled. “Well, I have a home, not sure anyone there truly misses me though.”

Aziraphale let out a light laugh, before dipping into a respectful, but not overt, curtsey and giving Crowley a small smile. “Safe travels.”

Crowley nodded and said a brief appreciation as he mounted Bentley and began to head up the road. He turned back and saw Aziraphale watching him, and he raised his hand in a brief wave. She returned his wave and he faced forward again. On a whim, he turned back again just in time to see Aziraphale lift the basket of apples to carry it inside. 

“Well, what do you think, Bentley? Fascinating woman, and lovely. Think I may need to come out this way more often.” Bentley gave a soft huff and raspberry, and Crowley laughed as he gently kicked her into a soft gallop. “Right you are, let’s go home.”

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Lord Crowley wasn’t even through the outer courtyard when a man strode into his path. Barely a man, really, but tall with a confident stride despite his youth. Bentley reared just enough to need calming, and Crowley was patting her neck as he addressed the man. He’d never seen him before, possibly he was visiting, or a new apprentice to one of the artisans, he wasn’t dressed like a merchant.

“You should watch your path, young man,” Crowley spoke gently but firmly.

The man looked up at him, his odd violet eyes looking Crowley up and down, taking in his manner of dress. He scoffed with a derisive sneer. “Perhaps this was your mistake, you can’t possibly be able to see through those glasses on your face.” 

Crowley huffed a small laugh even as he bristled at being addressed in such a manner, this was a common comment on his choice of facewear. It was tiresome, but he was used to it; it was worth hiding his distinctive bright amber eyes. “I see as well as you do, possibly better if this carelessness is your normal manner.” 

The man’s sneer took an edge. “You should watch your tongue, someone unkinder than myself may take it next time.”

Crowley blinked at the threat. “You’d do well to rethink your words, I know the Lord of this manor very well. I hardly think he would be happy to hear about your attitude.”

“You must be a guest of my Lord. Well, everyone needs a jester once in a while. You must be very good to have a horse like this, unless it is stolen?” 

“What is your name?” Crowley bared his teeth. How dare this man speak to him that way?

“Gabriel. I am apprentice to the tailor who provides fine work for my Lord, and as you’ve not given me your name, I can’t assume it is important. On your way now, I’m sure another Lord is waiting for their entertainment.” Gabriel strode away without a look back and Crowley was fit to spit. He wouldn’t forget this offense, and he would have a few words with the tailor about his new apprentice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes his way back out to the farm for a shorter visit than he'd hoped.
> 
> Aziraphale's family has been summoned to town for an unexpected meeting.

Barely a fortnight had passed before Crowley decided to make his way back to the orchard. He dressed in his ‘disguise’ as he enjoyed calling it, and took Bentley for a ride. Most of those who worked in the keep recognised Lord Crowley; his odd proclivity of going out looking common wasn’t widely known, but to those who lived and worked in his home, it was only a surprise the first few times. He nodded hello as he passed friendly greetings of “Lord Crowley” every few seconds until he reached the stable and brought Bentley out. He mounted up and made his way out of the manor walls where he would be able to let Bentley shuck off the slow pace and let loose. 

Crowley leaned low, his cheek pressed just under Bentley’s ear as he encouraged her. He loved riding fast, and Bentley enjoyed galloping at full speed. He let her go for a few minutes before bringing her back down to a walk for the remainder of the journey. They reached the orchard and Crowley dismounted, bringing Bentley to the rain barrel and pulling a brush out of his bag. He wouldn’t be able to do a full cooling out, but just enough to relax her before heading back. 

He started brushing her down as she drank. “Think you get faster every time we go out. We’ll have to be careful, one of these days, you’ll catch fire and scorch the road beneath you.” 

“That would be a shame.” A soft voice came from behind him.

Crowley spun around, surprise on his face. He wasn’t used to being snuck up on. Aziraphale giggled quietly behind her hand at Crowley’s open mouthed shock. 

“Begging your pardon, sir. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.” Aziraphale was still trying to hide her smile behind her hand. “I saw your approach and did wonder if you’d stop again.”

Crowley gathered himself and went to Bentley’s nearside so he could face Aziraphale as he brushed. “Yes, well, could hardly not stop, could I? Be- she’s not stopped going on about wanting another apple.” Crowley bit off Bentley’s name, just in case, he wanted to be unknown as long as possible. It was unlikely that she’d have ever heard it, but one could never tell.

“Oh, has she now? Well, good luck I happen to have one here, then.” Aziraphale pulled an apple out of her apron and waved off Crowley’s question of having permission. “Well, this one isn’t the prettiest, it has some bruising, and Father would never bring it to the market. So, it’s mine to give away. But it will still be tasty, nothing wrong with it, sir.”

Aziraphale held out the apple for inspection, barely a tremble in her hand. Before Crowley had a chance to say anything, Bentley turned and looked at Aziraphale before taking it, crunching through the apple as Crowley laughed. “Guess it passes the test.”

“I, uhm, brought one for you as well, sir. If you’d like it.” Aziraphale’s voice was barely above a whisper as she looked at Crowley shyly holding out a much prettier apple. 

He came around and took it, smiling. “I would, much appreciated. Do you have a third hiding in your apron, you could join me?”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, and nervous and she started backing away. “N-no, only brought the two. I assumed you’d only be passing, and I need to get back inside.”

Crowley’s eyebrows came together. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course, perfectly, yes.” Aziraphale lost her balance for just a moment before turning to walk to the house. “Tickety-boo!”

“Tickety what?” Crowley blinked at the unexpected reaction to his offer. Neither man or woman had ever turned him down before, for anything, let alone simply shared conversation or time eating.

“Mind how you go!” 

Crowley swallowed his disappointment, confused, calling out. “Of course. Well, thank you from both of us, for your generous snack.”

Aziraphale nodded with a small smile and a wave as she disappeared into the house.

“Well, that was a thing.” Crowley tossed the brush into the saddlebag and took a quick splash of water to his face before mounting up. He ate his apple while wondering what he had done wrong.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Aziraphale closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing heavily. What had she been thinking?! 

She didn’t get out much, although sometimes she would ride on the back of the cart and help her father and brother set up at the market, but rarely stayed in view. A couple of the other farmers in the area would visit on occasion to trade instead of going through the hassle of the market. No matter where it was, home or on the way to the market, she was shy. She knew there was always risk that someone would find her out, regardless of having only ever known _her_. 

But the red-haired stranger with the beautiful horse couldn’t be local, she’d definitely have recognized him. Maybe, perhaps, the risk wasn’t as immediate? And he was rather nice to look at. She’d spoken to him after Mother bid her to not waste and feed the horse, had even given him an apple of his own. She had been rather exhilarated at the exchange, smiling well into the evening as she had done her chores. Until she remembered his comment on her strength, then she’d deflate a bit. 

She knew it was actually not common for a woman to be as strong as she was, her mother had worked in the orchard as well, for far longer, but couldn’t lift a bushel as easily as Aziraphale. It was one of those activities that she was careful of not bringing attention to herself. She had the same natural strength of her father and brother, and she didn’t see any reason to not being all of who she was, at home at least. 

She’d been working outside again today when she saw the man again, and dithered before deciding to be brave. She boldly went out and spoke to him, on her own, by her own decision. It was rather exciting, if she was honest. Her family was in town, so she was alone, with no one to be surprised at her brashness. 

But a few short sentences appeared to be the extent of her bravery. Staying for the length of time to finish an apple, and holding a conversation for the duration was too daunting. She’d made her escape as quickly as possible without just breaking into a run. She calmed herself with the thought that this was unlikely to happen again. He’d been heading into town the first time she saw him, and following the road that led past the border of Lord Crowley’s lands the second. She took comfort that he’d been visiting, passing through. 

Aziraphale pressed her hands to her cheeks, wiping away the few tears that her fear, exhilaration, and adrenaline had squeezed out. Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned to the small table in the kitchen to begin preparing to cook supper. She checked the fire and got to work.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Aziraphale’s family were in town together, having been summoned to meet with the tailor. They were shocked to hear that the apprentice, Gabriel, had taken a liking to Aziraphale. At her base, Aziraphale was a farmer. Lovely and a skilled homemaker, to be sure, but a farmer, and they were surprised that an artisan would have given a peasant a second look. 

Gabriel had once overheard Aziraphale speaking of making her own clothes, and looking at them, he could see that she was rather good. As a tailor himself, he welcomed the idea of a profitable match. He didn’t feel it would benefit the conversation, but he was of the opinion that twice the hands, especially if they were even only tolerably skilled, could do twice the work, making twice the money. The fact that Aziraphale was lovely was a bonus in his opinion, even if he wasn’t really interested in children, or any sort of physical relationship. It was all about keeping up appearances, and if her parents thought he had fallen for her looks and personality … well, all the better for him. 

William and Estrid shared a brief look. Of course any parent hoped that their child would find happiness, a family of their own, even Sander was courting the daughter of another farmer. But it hadn’t been something that they’d truly thought about with Aziraphale. Sander also looked a bit concerned.

Gabriel couldn’t understand their hesitation, he knew he was an incredible prospect, especially for a farmer’s daughter. “Why are you hesitating? This is a good thing I am offering?”

“We do understand that, but we would need to discuss it with our daughter.” Estrid spoke first, much to Gabriel’s consternation.

He addressed William in a falsely placating manner. “Why? Surely an obedient daughter would do as her father wished. She didn’t seem impaired in any way when I’ve seen her, is this a character flaw I should know about?”

William looked at him sharply. “No, our daughter is not impaired, but she’s never expressed any interest in marrying, and I’ll not force her to, especially not to someone who she’s never met.”

Gabriel saw the steel in William’s resolve and backed down. “Of course, my apologies. I am just rather eager to settle down, and your daughter seems a good match for me; I was over excited.”

William and Estrid shared another look before Estrid spoke up. “What are your feelings on family? Children?”

Gabriel was a bit taken aback by this question, it was a little early for that conversation, regardless of the fact that he’d made up his mind years ago. He didn’t see any sense in lying, though, and it may actually benefit him since they seemed so concerned. “I fear that I may be a disappointment in that regard. While I would of course be happy to discuss it with Aziraphale, children were never really something I saw in my future. I enjoy my work, and my pride is with what I provide as a whole. If Aziraphale truly wants children, I may change my mind, but it isn’t a goal of mine to ‘go forth and multiply’.”

Gabriel was confused that all three of the guests were visibly relaxed by his words. He was expecting surprise, it wasn’t exactly a common idea to not further one’s line. But if they were relieved by it, may as well capitalize on it. “I live for my work, and I wouldn’t feel right expecting to , well, _create_ something and then expect to not show interest or responsibility toward it.”

“Well, that is good of you to know that about yourself. Knowing who you are, inside, is very important to our family.” William nodded at him approvingly and Estrid gave Gabriel a cautious smile. “The outside doesn’t matter if the inside doesn’t match, and the inside is the part that matters.”

“Exactly! It is like that with clothing as well. No matter how good it looks, if the craftsmanship is missing, it’ll all fall apart, and then you have nothing.” Gabriel smiled widely, hoping that he was understanding what he thought he was. 

William cocked his head and nodded slightly before standing. The others followed suit. “Well, we need to head home. We will talk to Aziraphale and when Sander and I come back in a few days to deliver to Lord Crowley’s kitchens, we will stop to talk.”

The tailor and apprentice agreed and they all parted ways. Sander walked over to the cart and helped his mother up before settling next to her for the ride back to the farm.

“Do you think he was telling the truth? About not wanting kids?”

“I do, son, and I’m rather relieved to hear it. I’ve never seen a man so obviously ill-suited to being a father before.” She chuckled as Sander agreed with her. “That doesn’t mean … “

“Yeah, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want something else.” Sander chewed on his thumb. How would he feel if he found out that the girl he’d been courting wasn’t as he expected? It was one thing to not want children, but … 

“I know. We will talk to Aziraphale and see what she says. Enjoying looking at the meat in the market doesn’t mean one is hungry and wants to eat it.”

Sander’s eyes went wide and he began sputtering. “ _Mother?!_ ”

Estrid’s comment had made William smile, but her laughter made him laugh as well. They enjoyed the rest of the ride home in a content, and scandalized, silence.

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest appreciation to Caedmon, who was an invaluable source of support when writing, and then posting, this story <3
> 
> I hope you are enjoying, and would love to see your comments and kudos.


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